


Loose Ties

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1930s, Slang, read into it as you wish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's not a good person, but Steve still thinks he is and honestly, that's all he's got to keep him going these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loose Ties

    Bucky’s tie is tight and the park is uncharacteristically hot, for September. The whole day had been lousy. He’d been spending too much time in his head and lost his job. It was so stupid; he shouldn’t have slacked off, he can’t _afford_ to slack off. _They_ can’t afford that, not with Steve always fighting off something, bully or sickness, needing medicine all the goddamn time 'cause he comes home all red and hurt no matter _what_ sense Bucky tries to talk into him. He can’t say anything about being out of work, because, really  _again,_ _Buck? You tryin'_ _to win a record?_ Steve’ll just worry without _saying_ he’s worrying and Bucky doesn’t want the stupid asthma to start up. A good person wouldn't waste the day and leave their best friend out to dry, when the damn rent is due right around the corner. A good person wouldn't do that to their best guy so Bucky knows he's not a good person. Bucky's a crook, now he ain't got enough to keep Steve bandaged up without pulling something. Steve doesn't have to know, and he _won't_ , so the guilt weighs him down as he watches Steve approach and sit ungracefully next to him in the shade. Bucky pulls at his tie and nods his head. “You’re late.” He says, turning his gaze back to the skyline and trying to think of ways that he can get out of this jam without coming clean to Steve. 

    “I’m,” his friend wheezes out. Is Steve getting sick again? Bucky pulls at his tie. “Sorry.”

   “You should be,” Bucky says, attempting a joke to plaster over the worry he’s feeling. There he was daydreaming about real stupid, _stupid_ thoughts while he should’ve been working and now his best friend is getting the goddamn flu, or the fever, God forbid. His tie is still awfully tight. “Where ya been, pal? Been waiting for _hours_.”

   “Tell it to Sweeney,” Steve picks at his fingers. “I was working, what’d ya think?” _You’re lying,_ Bucky stares, _and you’re such a bad liar._ “Some old owl by the harbor croaked and the fellas who did it, they didn't even try to pinch him or nothing,” Bucky sits back next to his friend. He twiddles his thumbs. He really shouldn’t relax. He just got laid off and now Steve is talking about people dying—what if this wheezing Steve’s got buys him a damn Chicago overcoat? His tie is still too tight, though he’s pulled at it about half a dozen times already. And how come it’s so hot? “Just pulled out a rod and sent him away,” Bucky can’t concentrate on the words leaving his friend’s mouth, much less the weight of them. He’s too busy thinking of ways to keep Steve out of the ground. “To the _big_ sleep.” _Sleep_ , that’s almost laughable. How can Bucky sleep tonight?

   “What’d he do?” Bucky asks, half listening. He won't sleep tonight, that's the answer.

   “I don’t know,” Steve says honestly. “I saw it, after the cops came by. He looked a mess, I’m telling you,” Steve shakes his head. “I shoulda gotten out sooner.”

   “You couldn’ta done anything.” Bucky says, pausing from his worry to take his friend’s story seriously. He looks over, Steve’s breathing shallowly and slowly and, dammit, is Steve getting thinner? How are they gonna eat? Now all Bucky's thinking about is where the next meal is coming from, if he’s got enough saved to make it the week, even though he knows he's only got about two bits to his name.

   “I could have,” His friend shakes his head, defiantly. He peers at Bucky. “Say,” He starts. “What’s got you all dolled up, old boy? Someone finally take pity on your ugly mug?”

   “It’s not my doing, honestly— _Christ_ , this damn tie.” He grumbles out as he shakes his head and pulls his tie off. He holds it out to Steve, who throws up his hands.

   “They ain’t clean.” Bucky curls his lip and shrugs, throwing the tie at him.

   “So? I don’t mind, it’s too tight on me,” He smiles the slightest when Steve takes the tie and holds it gingerly. Course Steve's careful. Course he is. “Christ, it ain’t breakable, Steve. You don’t hafta be so goddamn careful.” Steve glares at him before shrugging like he doesn’t care anymore. “You can have it, y’know.”

   “Nah, wouldn’t have a reason to wear it.” But he still _looks_ like he wants it.

   “You could make a reason,” Bucky murmurs, very foolishly; _that don’t make sense, Buck_. He can see both of Steve's eyes with the way he’s facing him now. One's all swollen, shiny and purple. Steve got in _another_ fight? He turns his head away and misses a scorning look from Bucky. “ _Chrissakes_ ," He groans, annoyed and scrunching his face up. "That’s an awful bad shiner you’ve got.”

   “Gee, thanks, pal, guess I hadn't noticed that I can't see that well outta my left lamp.” Steve says, jokingly.

   “You’re unreal,” Bucky says. “Who gave that to you? You get in another fight?” His brows draw together.

   “No, no fight, Buck.” His friend mutters, picking at the holes in his shirt. Bucky wishes, for the twelve time today, that he had money. If he’d have quit, quit the stupid thoughts that he couldn’t shake, he wouldn’t have to be flat out of a job. He could’ve gotten him a new shirt and maybe it’d look real nice with Bucky’s ti– _another stupid thought, Buck_. _Quit it while you’re still breathing._ He watches, instead of thinking, 'cause he's sure as hell done enough of that today, as his friend puts the tie over his knee and folds it. He looks up. The wind stirs them. 

   “Well, you didn’t do it yourself,” Bucky confronts, sitting up. He can't come clean about his own mistakes, but he sure as hell wants Steve to.  _You're just a yellow-bellied bastard, Buck._ “Don’t tell me you’re stupider than I wanna hear, Steve.”

   “Well, what do you _want_ me to say? Come on, give me a break, Buck; don't feel so  _tough_ 'bout it. I'm tryin' to level with you.”

   “Give you a break? I wanna hear that you didn’t do something stupid, Steve, that’d be swell," _Losing your bread and butter ain't stupid, Buck?_   "Y'know, it wouldn’t _kill_ ya to back down for once.” Bucky says.

   “I didn’t do anything stupid.” Steve replies slowly.

   “Steve,” Bucky shakes his head and rubs at his eyes. “I suppose wisdom is something that won’t go through that thick skull of yours,” He hums. “Maybe if you get hit harder next time, you’ll finally understand when to back off.”  

    “Don’t think that’ll happen, Buck,” His friend grins, wincing slightly when his eyes crease up. It’s a good thing Bucky’s got a practically full first aid kit, though he knows that won’t last for long. “You tired? I’m tired.”

   “No, I’m dandy," _Bucky, you're so great at lying_. "Got a big date tonight, after all,” He doesn’t have any date tonight. He has to find some kind of a job, some big ol' bread-maker. “I swear, sometimes I think you make up these fights.”

   “Just why would I do that?”

   “You want me to feel sorry for ya.”

   “That’s a good one,” his friend smiles and then turns serious. “It’s fighting for a good cause,” Bucky frowns. "Shouldn'ta died, those coppers back there knew it; he was ancient. Wasn't doin' any harm." Bucky sucks in the air around them and looks down at his knees.

   “I don’t think there’s a good reason to fight, not when it’s you up against some deal four times your size. And it’ll be the death of you and me, just you wait and see,” Bucky begins. “Knock me out before it does you in.”

   “Oh, come _on_ , I ain't dead now, am I?” His friend questions, visibly agitated. Bucky worries too much, worries enough for him and Steve and their extended families. He knows that, but they can’t be so broke they’re on the streets living under shipping crates beneath the bridges. They can't be so broke that they'll end up like that old man Steve's been talking about. He’ll market himself before he sees that happen. “And everybody’s _always_ dying.”

    “Well, everyone ain’t _you_ neither.” It’s a slightly uncomfortable silence that follows this comment, and Bucky tricks himself into believing that he doesn’t understand why, because he definitely ain't warm for his best pal.

    “Where are you off to tonight?” Steve asks after some time passes.

    “Just dancing, is all.” Bucky mutters, hoping his friend can’t hear the horrible lie in his voice.

    “That’s swell,” He says. It’s a while before either of them speaks. They sit alone together, the clouds rolling down like curtains to the end of a show, the end of the day. What a shitty day it was, liable to be a worse night, Bucky thinks. “Hey, you might be able to see the stars tonight.” Steve breaks the silence.

    “Huh?” Bucky says.

    “The sky looks awfully clear tonight,” He points out. “Maybe you could take her to the rooftop.” 

   “Christ,” Bucky considers telling him, what he's really going to be doing. His friend looks back at him for a split-second and tosses a confused stare. He's so goddamn concerned that Bucky sighs and gives up, looking down and away. Wishing they were either trees or something that couldn’t be evicted for the briefest of moments, something that couldn't tell a lie. “Nevermind.”    

    “I don’t know what you wanna say,” He answers carefully. “If I forgot something important, I’m sorry.”   

    “You didn’t forget, pal.” Bucky rubs at his face with the heels of his hands. “Don’t be sorry,” He sits straight up and sighs. “When I’m dead,” Steve screws up his face and Bucky shakes his head. “Just lemme finish, I gotta say something.” 

   “Fine, so you’re dead as a doornail.” Steve crosses his arms, waits expectantly. 

   “Yeah,” Bucky says slowly, giving him a look. “S’just…there are things that you might wanna never remember…well….do me a favor and…” He doesn’t finish his thought and shakes his head. No, he's not warm for his best pal. “Doesn’t matter, look, pal, I don’t know what I’m sayin'. Been a long day.” Bucky breathes and that's as close as he gets to telling Steve all he's got to say. 

   They are both silent. It is not comfortable and the air feels like it’s burying them. Bucky hates the damn park. His friend is still sitting next to him; tie on his shoulder and staring into the widest space they could find in Brooklyn. Picking at his shirt and Bucky just wants to yell at him to cut that out; he's only making the holes bigger and they don't have any dough left to get another one and it's all Bucky's fault. He wants Steve to know how sorry he is. He shouldn't have said anything, shouldn't have tried talking 'bout something he wasn't even sure happened and he sure as hell shouldn't have thought about it while on the job. 

  “You’re my best pal, Buck and I’m not about to forget you, if that’s what you’re going on about,” Steve says boldly, because that's Steve. Bold, brave and genuine. That's Steve, he knows when to stop, probably knows that Bucky's got the trembles for him but he doesn't act any different. Bucky's not a good person. He can't make his own share doing an honest living but Steve's looking at him like he's a good pal, taking the tie from his shoulder and tossing it around Bucky’s neck, and the worst part is that he can't ever know what Bucky does nights he's out of work. “You wouldn’t wanna waste a chance like this, would ya?” Bucky gives him the once over cautiously, a little confused. Steve's awkwardly close and damn, it's  _hot_ out.

   “Huh?” Bucky asks.

  “’S'not _every_ night some nice girl lets you take her dancing.” Bucky frowns briefly. He’s _not going_ dancing and for the same damn ludicrous reason he _tries_ to ignore everyday, it hurts that Steve _thinks_ he’s going dancing. “Must’ve looked down right pathetic before she said yes, moping in corners.”

   “Must’ve.” Bucky mutters, remembering the last time he truly went dancing and didn't do all the things that he knew were wrong, that made bad people. He thinks about the kind of people that Steve fight, knows he'd be one of them if Steve had any idea. But Steve's grinning at him, folding his cheek and trying to pretend that the shiner doesn't hurt as much as Bucky knows it does. All Bucky can do is feel guilty and wrong. 

   “Can't hear you when your mouth is full of marbles,” Steve says, his grin turning into a frown. He's so concerned that Bucky wants to beat it, wants to leave so he won't have to face those intense looks Steve keeps throwing at him and that helluva bad shiner, making Bucky feel guilty and angry at himself. "You feeling okay, Buck?"

   “Grand as can be," Bucky smiles wide as he's got and hopes it's enough to let Steve not worry. "She must've not been able to resist my charm, Rogers. You should see her, Steve; blonde bombshell, blue eyes. She’s stubborn as a mule. The whole deal,” Bucky watches his friend carefully, who does nothing out of the ordinary save for stiffening slightly. “I guess I know how to reel ‘em in.” His friend shakes his head, releasing some tension and puts on the shittiest excuse for a smile Bucky has ever seen.

   “Sure do, Buck.” Bucky's not a good person, but Steve still thinks he is and honestly, that's all he's got to keep him going these days. 


End file.
